Our very modern brand of party politics

Simon and I are at loggerheads, and all because of a teenage party. Louisa, our 14-going-on-19-year-old, wants to go to a Capital VIP party. They're alcohol-free, nightclub-style gatherings for teenagers in search of an early taste of adult life. They're £35 a ticket, and go on until 1am, necessitating drives across town in the early hours for already-exhausted parents, and they're invariably accompanied by rows, tantrums and tears.

This has been no exception, although the rows, tantrums and tears have been mine and Simon's. The contentious issue is that the party falls on a school night. That, for me, makes it a no-brainer: she simply cannot go.

Simon, though, has other ideas. He knows we have a no-late-nights-on-schoolnights rule. He remembers, too, the headteacher at Louisa's school telling us all how bad it was educationally to have her charges hauling themselves into the classroom after a night on the tiles.

But he also thinks we should make an exception. Louisa has friends going to the party. She's a hard-working, diligent girl who gets good grades and doesn't make trouble. We should, he says, be prepared to bend the rules once in a while.

This is a weak argument. Give teenagers an inch and they take a mile. But, says Simon, one midweek party won't ruin her entire academic career. Isn't good parenting about showing your child you're prepared to listen, and don't just make inflexible pronouncements that take no account of their feelings?

And so I give in. I'm sorry that we're flouting school rules; I'm sorry if Louisa ends up with her eyelids drooping in a maths lesson. But, secretly, I'm happy for Louisa, who's lucky enough to have a dad who listens, and who sometimes manages to shift the goalposts - even if it goes against all sane educational advice!